


From Below

by SunYiJie



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Freeform, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunYiJie/pseuds/SunYiJie
Summary: "I used to think that they were more... But now I’ve seen them fall."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer.

I used to think that those who used the trapeze flew with unfathomable grace and felt unbearably free up above the audience, as close to the clouds as they could possibly get. I used to think that aerialists felt strong, independent, and as flexible as the wind, ever-changing but a force to be reckoned with. I used to think that acrobats felt so much better than those who are chained to the ground because they could glide and loop as they wished while the rest of us watched on, hopelessly awed but shackled to the earth by clipped, broken wings. I used to think that they were more. I used to think that they were born, as special and unique as a snowflake on a winter morn. I used to believe that they could lift their spirits simply by stepping out into the void of the ring, with spotlights on them and crowd staring with awe-filled reverence.

But now I’ve seen them fall.

I’ve seen those doves give up their wings and dive towards the earth, becoming flightless stones hurtling downwards at stomach-dropping velocities with only enough time for one short scream before they make impact. The craters they make leave pits in the souls of their fellow flock, but still those birds must keep their flight path. They must stay strong, if only for the entertainment of their crippled family below. If they don’t, then the jeers and boos of the crowd can be like arrows, tearing through the air at breakneck speeds, and bringing them down to watch from below with their brothers and sisters, captives of their own nature. I’ve seen them break inside, even to the point that they can’t spread their wings any longer, and they are once again brought down to live with the stones and made rigid, like statues, souvenirs of a life that once played out among the stars.

Now I know that they are not free; they are not strong; they are not better than the rest of us. Though they have their wings, they must keep their feet, and they can never truly leave the ground. They must still rely on their wires, their bars, their net because they can still fall and break upon the stones below. They are born, but just like the rest of us, and though they dive through dangers and fly through open air, once they let go, they are on a set path and cannot change it no matter how hard they try. Those of the flying trapeze may only feel alive in the air, but they still cannot escape the cruel voice of gravity that always brings them back down again. They still must live as birds among the stones.


End file.
